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The Story:

It's a tomato spaghetti Thursday. I clear the table, take the plates to the sink, scrape the remaining spaghetti strands off the plates into the green waste bin. My mother sits at the kitchen island, flipping through the discount sheets one by one. My father wasn’t present at the dining table. he likes to lock himself up in high-rise office buildings. With men looking just like him. I am not sure what he's doing in there. I imagine they are talking about algorithms, investments, cryptocurrencies and the scantily clad women of the year calendar. I know he doesn’t discuss his wife, god or me, his daughter. Usually, he comes back in the evening when I’m already a sleep. My mother asks If I can make tea. While I rinse the plates one by one, she discusses the new offers: ‘’a kilo of sweet potato for 4.99! buy a tube of toothpaste and you will get the second one for half the price! Dishwasher tablets with a 35% discount!’’. ‘’did you wear that to school?’, she asked in a demeaning voice. “I did, you don’t like. ‘’ I am wearing thigh fitting jeans and an oversized men’s shirt. ‘’those pants make you look heavier’’. Her remarks make me feel self-conscious. I hold in my breath. I place a saucepan filled with water on the stove. I turn the gas on. My mother opens the next discount sheet. She continues:’’ it might be better if you would dress more modest, you will attract the wrong attention.’’ she sighs. ‘’Are you still praying, each night before you go to bed?’’ I did but lately, the words of our lord and savior evoked rage and anger instead of clarity or enlightenment. The first air bubbles started to appear in the water. ‘’I do’’ with slight mockery I ask: ‘’what does the bible has to say about skinny jeans, mom? She walks around the kitchen island and is now standing nearer to me. ‘’I do not accept this behavior. In this household we practice Cristian values and you have been drifting away for quit to long’’. ‘’Whatever is left from this household’’ I say underneath my breath. “what did you say? Speak up!”. “whatever is left of this household!” I repeat, this time louder. The water is beginning to boil. she frowns. “do you know what happens to the girls on tv, who dress like little prostitutes?’’ she yells. I raise my voice: “why don’t you ask dad, he would know, he’s been gone most nights!’’. She lifts her arm and hits me in the face. ‘’apologies!’’. The water in the saucepan boils over. I grab the first thing my hand can reach. I lift the saucepan whiteout thought and throw the boiling hot water over my mother. Her face turns bright red, her skin peels and scorches. She screams while steam is escaping her face.

the haunting feeling of guilt is unbearable. My sandwiches have a profound after taste of guilt and when is speak the guilt is dripping from my mouth. The tragic evening keeps requiring in my dreams: I’m in the kitchen and poor the boiling water on my mother. her skin doesn’t burn, instead she melts like a candle. From the puddle of wax arises a small snake. “you are here to let me eat an apple, aren’t you?’’ I ask him. I go sit down on the kitchen floor. The snake shakes his head no. ‘’are you here to tell me is should die from shame?’’. ‘’no, I would like to talk about your retribution’’ he hisses.

Jesus died for our sin. My sins are too great for him to carry around, So I have to take matters into my own hands. On tomato spaghetti Thursday night, I walk downstairs, turn on the kitchen light, Fil a big pot with pasta water. I wait until the water starts to boil. I think about my mother, my father and my snake friend. I wipe my hair behind my ears and submerge my face into the boiling water. The last thing I see are air bubbles.

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